Lullaby of Stars
by Leshachikha
Summary: Remus, on the night of October 31, 1981, reflects on himself and his friends in the still before Voldemort attacks.


bTitle:/bLullaby of the Stars

bAuthor:/b Leshachikha

bRating:/b PG

bGenre:/b Angst/Drama

bPairings: /bnone

bSummary:/b Remus, on the night of October 31, 1981, reflects on himself and his friends in the still before Voldemort attacks.

bDisclaimer:/b I do not own Harry Potter. It is owned by JK Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers and various other people. I also do not own the poem. It is the English version of a song from "Key: the Metal Idol" which is, by the way, an excellent anime. If you would like to download the song (which is highly recommended) download Kazaza and search for Key's lullaby.

bA/N: /bThis is a nice, short angsty Lupin piece. Yay.

hr

iNight owl calls while the dove soars across the silver moon.  
All alone the rose petals close and kiss the night.  
All across the darkened night sky sail fireflies  
gently lighting shadows that hide a thousand eyes./i

October 31, 1981. It was the night that would change everything. The summer had held a sickly, smothering heat that had not yet dissipated and it was especially evident this night. Even though the skies were clear, the humidity hung like a shroud over Britain. Perhaps, had it been any other year but this one, the newspapers would have been brimming with headlines screaming about the muggle crops failing from repeated scorching and flooding and other various mishaps. But they weren't. The newspapers were gone. There were no headlines. No reporters. And, despite that it was Halloween; the merriest of all wizard holidays, there were no revelers. Instead, the night was filled with a great sense of waiting, the very air reverberated with the tensions of thousands of hidden people, as if their anxieties had finally reached a climax and something, something of great importance, was happening.

Remus Lupin, as he watched the lightening bugs swirl above him and disappear into the darkness of the sky, was aware of this. The grass blades swung in the nervous whispers of the breeze, flinging their dewdrops onto his cheeks. He lay on the ground in the clearing and raised a wavering hand to the sky. He knew that that something, that so important something, had something to do with his friends. His friends who had given him up, who had finally excluded him, and left him to this god forsaken cottage. 

Remus let the hand drop and sat up in the wet grass, shaking his head. They hadn't told him to go, they would never do that, but he had heard the whispers, the quiet, passionate arguments when they thought he was asleep. They had pretended to be sad and surprised when he told them he was leaving, but their eyes were sheltered and Remus could see, he saw with terrible clarity, that no one trusted him. As flew on his broomstick, battered by winds and rain as he searched for his old cottage, he was filled with a blazing rage. The stigma that he had fought so hard to overcome and thought he had had returned back to him, like a distorted, ugly echo of his father, smacking him across the face as a child when the doctor told him the news, of his brother's cold silence, and of his mother's hopeless tears. He thought he'd escaped all that. But, as he knew now, there was no love for a werewolf. At the cottage, he'd fallen into a dumb, accepting depression. He was twenty-one years old, a recluse, a werewolf, and a ruined man and that was his life.

But, this night, the old anger burned in his heart. He clenched the grass blades, filled with hopeless rage. Someone was passing information, he knew that, but he could do nothing to convince them it wasn't him… Damn how he had left! He gritted his teeth. He was supposed to be the one who thought things through, the one who made the plans! Why did he succumb to that moment of impulse and blow up at them? He might've had a chance! Now even Dumbledore thought he was Voldemort's lapdog…  

      
  
iFar dream, dream, no dream,  
You can feel the forest calling out to you.  
Far dream, dream, no dream,  
Close your eyes, my darling child.  
When the dawn comes, you'll see these things I have for you:  
Morning dew and the scent of a jasmine summer breeze./I  
  


Remus fell back on the ground, shivering. He stared up through the leafy canopy of the trees at the stars, winking some urgent message in tongues forgotten to him as his vision blurred with exhaustion. If he looked at the heavens long enough, he found, he could forget Voldemort, and James, and Lily, and Sirius, and Peter, and that he was a werewolf, and magic in general and remember that one precious recollection before the curse had soiled him. He could again lay on his back in this clearing, his nose catching the scent of his mother's flowers with none of the overpowering pungency they had acquired once he had been bitten, next to his father, who he had not known was magical, who was pointing out stars. 

"That one's Orion," he'd said, shaking some of the dewdrops as he lifted his hand to point. "He's the hunter."

"I don't like hunters," Remus's younger voice dimly chimed back, like through a dream.

And Mr. Lupin had laughed and ruffled his hair. No one had ever touched him like that after he'd been cursed…

"We'd better go in, Rem."

And Remus had looked up at the summer sky, spreading like a sparkling blue bowl overhead, alit with fireflies and framed by leaves as the wind threaded through his hair. The moon shone so beautifully, and no tinge of fear accompanied his gazing at it, there was just wonder.  "But dad, can we stay outside?"

And they had. 

That's what hurt Remus the most. He'd once had a father who'd loved him. What made him think that friends could stay loyal to him when a father could turn his back? Where had he gotten his damn idealism from when he was considered to be wary, shy, and a bit cynical? Why did he ever suppose that he could ever have a place in the world?

I  
Night hawk sings as the black raven circles over it.  
All alone the white lily bends and dies.  
All across the darkened night sky, a thunder roars.  
Winds come howling harmony to a lone wolf's cry.

/I

The werewolf stood, his face tilted to the sky. The stars were swirling and the fireflies twinkled, as if they were trying to convey something. His heart was suddenly clenched with a deep sadness. Something was happening and he couldn't know! The clearing echoed with the dim reverberations of distant thunder. He closed his eyes in rage and hopelessness, his fingernails digging into his palm.

"What is it?" he hissed through clenched teeth. "Damn you, what are you trying to say!?" His scream floated around him and the wind was stilled.

He was alone. He knew it. 

Remus sank to his knees. Lily, James, Sirius, and Peter. They were gone and he was alone. Tears streamed down his cheeks, like hot rivers. The bond they had formed in fifth year, the spell of friendship that would only break if one of them died or killed another, had fallen. Remus had not felt anything when he'd cast it, but now that it was gone it left a gap in his already tattered heart. He could see that somehow they had been betrayed and that Lily and James's Fidelius must have failed. All of them were dead, or as good as dead. He could feel Sirius, somewhere, his strongest bond, weakly tugging, on a part of his mind he hadn't known he'd possessed.   

  
I  
Far dream, dream, no dream,  
You can feel the forest calling out to you.  
Far dream, dream, no dream,  
Close your eyes, my darling child.  
When the dawn comes you'll see these things I have for you:  
Loneliness and a sight that will smother every word.

/I

            The year was 1987. The door to the Leaky Cauldron swung open with a blast of cold air and sleet, and a thin, ragged man walked in, tightening his cloak around himself. He couldn't have been much older than thirty, but his auburn hair was peppered with gray and his face was streaked and worn. The man sat at the bar, keeping his face down and his hands in his pockets.

            "What can I get you?" the barkeeper asked as he sauntered over, wiping a cup. 

            The man's amber eyes darted up and he spoke, as if unaccustomed to doing so, raspy and hoarsely. "Something warm and something cheap, please."

            A mug of something red, steaming and frothing was pushed in front of him. The man dug into his pocket, but the barkeeper held out a hand to stop him.

            "Hey, you don't need to pay. You look like you need it."

            "Thanks," the man whispered, lifting the mug to his lips and relishing the feeling of the sticky warmth in his throat.

            "So, what have you been doing to make yourself look like that?" the barkeeper asked, reaching up for another cup to polish. 

            The man's eyes flicked up again. "Things," he said clearly and with a tone of finality.

            "Things?" came a different voice from behind them, and the man turned to look up.

            "Why, headmaster Dumbledore!" exclaimed the bartender, jumping up. "What a pleasant surprise! What can I get you?" The man at the stool looked down and his hands clenched angrily.

            "Ah, some hot chocolate today, Tom, please." The elderly headmaster sat on the barstool next to the man. "You know, Remus, you had us all worried and half drowned in guilt, disappearing like that. You didn't even go to their funerals."

            Remus looked up. "I suppose you could say that I wasn't thinking right," he said tersely.

            Dumbledore opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted. 

            "And I'm still not thinking right," the werewolf added, gulping his tankard.

            The headmaster sighed. "Remus, why won't you forgive us? We made a mistake and… Thank you Tom." He lifted the mug to his lips, a glob of whipped cream catching in his beard. "We made a mistake… I'm sorry."

            Remus's eyes slid guiltily away. "I know I've been terrible…but I just didn't want to face anything. I still don't, as a matter of fact. There's just too many memories all around here."

            Dumbledore gazed contemplatively into his chocolate. "Perhaps," he said slowly. "Perhaps you could face these memories…Weren't you top of your class in DADA every year, despite difficult competition?"

            "Yes…" the werewolf warily replied, eying him. "Why?"

            "Professor Angelhopper died last term, poor man, and we have an opening and-"

            "No!" Remus snapped, a bit louder than he'd intended.  His old Professor looked surprised. "They'd be there, I couldn't face it. I'd just see them… popping out from everywhere…I can't stand the sight of that castle, it would bring it all back…" He ran a hand through his hair and set his half-empty tankard on the counter. "I couldn't live like that, much less teach. I'm sorry." The man stood up, shifting his cloak to leave. "Thank you," he said, voice breaking and turning away. "Thank you for asking…"

            "If you ever change your mind…"

            "I'll owl you." And he strode away, head down. Remus pushed open the heavy door into muggle London and pulled his cloak around him, the lone person on the street. Slush ran in rivulets around his scuffed boots, illuminated by the orange glow of the streetlamps, and the cold wind whipped mercilessly. The snow whirled around him and the air bit, crisp and clean, so different from that same night six years ago. The two years and nights were opposites, one hot and oppressing, the other cold and stormy while the renewed pain stung sharp in his chest. But, if he looked up into the nighttime sky, he could see, like an eerie photograph laid over his vision, the fireflies and snowflakes dancing the same immortal lullaby, forever underneath the unchanging, sparkling stars who spoke in a tongue he once knew.

I

Close your eyes, my darling child,

Close your eyes…

Come now…

/I


End file.
